


miss the rush of your skin.

by redhoods



Series: widofjord week 2019. [9]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Widofjord Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 23:30:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: There’s still almost two hours until Molly’s due to arrive, so he changes into his workout clothes and starts doing work around the house, not that there’s much of anything by the way of chores left to do. A small load of laundry, a few dishes from yesterday and this morning, and then he even ends up taking the rugs out the back door and shaking them off.Frumpkin follows him around the whole time.By the time he’s done all of this, there’s still an hour left so he debates the contents of the freezer, “What do you think, Frumps? Should I cook something for your dad coming home tonight?”Frumpkin bites his ankle and Fjord takes it as a ‘yes’.





	miss the rush of your skin.

**Author's Note:**

> more of my very soft modern au. one of tomorrow’s prompts will also be in this verse and i’ll probably keep going with it long after the week is over.
> 
> for widofjord week day six - modern au.
> 
> title is from come on get higher by matt nathanson.
> 
> warning that i use feminine coded language to refer to fjord’s genitalia.

It’s still dark out when Fjord comes to consciousness.

His eyes adjust faster than his brain wakes up and he narrows his eyes at the mocking ‘6:13 AM’ on Caleb’s alarm clock. He tries to will it to explode with the sheer force of his mind, but it ticks over to ‘6:14 AM’ and he rolls back to his own side of the bed.

(Even if he had the ability, the clock is enchanted to withstand Caleb in the morning, which is to say it might as well be indestructible.)

There’s a chirrup from the end of the bed and Fjord pushes up onto his elbows, finding Frumpkin’s glowing eyes peering at him from down by his feet. “Can’t sleep either?” He asks and watches the cat stand and leap down off the bed. Neither of them have been sleeping well and Fjord isn’t sure bonding over insomnia is the way to go with felines, but its been working for them.

He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, taking stock of his body, his usual aches and pains.

Eventually there’s no point to laying around alone and he gets up and pads down the stairs.

When he turns the corner on the first floor, Frumpkin is waiting for him on the kitchen island. He hums quietly to himself as he flips the light on and crosses to the fridge. They’ve fallen into a routine in Caleb’s absence and he’ll admit to having been worried at first, that he and Frumpkin would’ve been at odds without Caleb as a buffer.

It hasn’t been the case and Frumpkin sits patiently at his elbow while Fjord mixes up his breakfast. He rubs the cat’s scruff after sliding him his bowl, “Spoiled kitty,” he teases, then steps away to start the coffee maker.

Frumpkin finishes his food at the same time Fjord’s gotten his coffee prepared so he follows the cat to the backdoor, letting them both out onto the back porch overlooking the garden. He follows Frumpkin with his eyes as the cat disappears into the bushes, then settles himself on the steps to drink his coffee.

By the time he’s gotten to the dregs, Frumpkin has returned, butting up against his side to get pets and Fjord indulges him until he realizes he’s forgotten his phone upstairs. “Coming in? Molly’s coming by sometime,” he tells Frumpkin and doesn’t trip over him when the cat races him inside.

He climbs the stairs, feeling like an old man when his knee protests, and sinks onto the edge of the bed on his side to check his phone.

There’s only two notifications and Fjord now knows what Jester was up to with his phone last night at dinner.

Caleb’s name is now followed by a long string of hearts, a few rainbow flags, and lastly a ring emoji. Fjord willfully ignores it, in favor of reading the message itself.

**About to get on my flight, already took my pill. Seven more hours. Ich liebe dich, liebling.**

The second notification is a text from Molly, whose name has not been changed.

**be there @ 9!!!!!!!! not goin easy on u bcuz ur man is comin home!!!!**

Fjord snorts and doesn’t bother replying.

There’s still almost two hours until Molly’s due to arrive, so he changes into his workout clothes and starts doing work around the house, not that there’s much of anything by the way of chores left to do. A small load of laundry, a few dishes from yesterday and this morning, and then he even ends up taking the rugs out the back door and shaking them off.

Frumpkin follows him around the whole time.

By the time he’s done all of this, there’s still an hour left so he debates the contents of the freezer, “What do you think, Frumps? Should I cook something for your dad coming home tonight?”

Frumpkin bites his ankle and Fjord takes it as a ‘yes’.

\------

Molly shows up a little after nine in brightly patterned yoga pants, with his hair braided back between his horns. “Mornin’, Popeye, you ready to sweat?” He asks, skipping past Fjord into the house, nearly whacking him in the face with his yoga mat and then his tail.

“Molls,” Fjord doesn’t quite whine, turning to follow the tiefling into the living room, “What do I gotta do to get you to stop calling me that?”

The only response he gets is a sharp grin from over Molly’s shoulder while he rearranges the living room to suit his desires, which is to say he’s dragging Caleb’s favorite chair away from the bay windows. Molly’s got a whole routine to this, which is purposeful, because the routine of it all sets Fjord at ease.

He edges around where Molly’s unrolling their mats and drags the curtains open. It’s a nice day out so he opens the center window, hoping for a nice breeze. As soon as he backs away, Frumpkin leaps up and sprawls on the sill, peering out over the front lawn, his tail flicking lazily.

Molly claps his hands and Fjord jolts, stepping onto his own mat automatically. When he gets settled, he glances over and Molly is watching him with a small smile, “I was lying in my text, by the way,” he says, leaning into the first stretch that Fjord mimics, “I’d hate to be responsible for your inability to properly welcome Caleb home.”

“Thanks, Molly,” he mumbles, turning his face away so Molly can’t see him blushing.

“Don’t say I never did anything nice for you!” Molly laughs, soft and easy.

Before they can move to the next stretch, Frumpkin starts yowling in the sill before leaping out the window. “Frumpkin!” Fjord calls after him, already pushing himself to stand, going to stick his head out the window. All he catches is Frumpkin’s tail disappearing around the front side of the house towards the driveway, “Well hell.”

He pulls back and Molly is standing, eyebrows drawn together, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Frumpkin do that.”

“Me neither,” Fjord says, already walking for the front door.

As soon as the door swings up, he knows what had set Frumpkin off.

Caleb’s standing in the driveway, suitcases around his feet, crouched down to pet the cat.

Fjord’s down the few stairs before he even realizes he’s moving, staring at Caleb like a fool because words aren’t bubbling up in him. He’d feel self conscious stepping out into the front lawn in his workout clothes, if he could feel anything but bone deep happiness at laying eyes on Caleb.

Three whole weeks.

Thankfully though, Caleb lifts his head and notices Fjord standing there, gaping like a fool, “Hallo,” he says and straightens out to his full height. There’s no hesitation in the way he steps in, sliding his arms around Fjord’s middle, pressing them together, chest to hip to thigh.

It’s enough to get Fjord moving again, his arms coming up to encircle Caleb, “Hi.” His voice comes out thick with emotion, “I was supposed to come get you tonight.”

“Surprise,” Caleb’s voice gets muffled, where he’s got his face fully pressed against Fjord’s chest.

“Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag!” Molly’s there and Fjord had completely forgotten it. The tiefling is smiling at the both of them, though he cuts his eyes at Caleb, “You were supposed to wait until after I was done with him,” though there’s no heat in his voice as he brushes by them to his car.

“Sorry,” Caleb replies, sounding not at all sorry, “Frumpkin saw me.”

The cat in question meows down by their feet, twining around their legs, rubbing against the both of them in turns. 

“We’re making up this session later this week, Fjord!” Molly declares, already halfway in his car. He doesn’t seem to be waiting for a response though and Fjord waves absently.

“Hi,” Fjord says, once Molly is gone.

Caleb smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, “I missed you,” he says, voice hushed, before pushing up onto his toes to press their lips together.

Fjord melts into it, cradling the back of Caleb’s head with one hand, the other pressed flat against his back to keep him close and balanced. Any other time and he might’ve been self conscious about this, making out in his yoga clothes in the front lawn, but its been three weeks and, gods, has he missed Caleb.

Hands on his cheeks ease him back a little, enough that he can see the way Caleb’s eyes have gone all navy around the edges, “We should go inside, liebling,” Caleb tells him quietly. His thumbs sweep over Fjord’s cheekbones and he’s helpless but to press into it them, “I’ve just come off a long flight and I’d love to get a shower and eat and then spend the rest of my day with you.”

It’s all perfectly reasonable. Caleb hates flying, has to pop a sleeping pill every time and it always leaves him feeling gross and shaky with hunger after.

Nudging his nose against Caleb’s jaw, he presses a gentle kiss to his neck then edges back, “I’ll cook something up while you’re in the shower,” he agrees and scoops up some of Caleb’s bags, protests falling on deaf ears.

\-----

He leaves Caleb to his coming home routine, knowing that if he goes upstairs while Caleb’s unpacking and showering that he’ll mostly just get in the way. 

Frumpkin doesn’t join him in the kitchen now and he strangely feels the cat’s absence as he pulls out the stuff for a couple of fruit parfaits. Usually this is what he and Molly have after their sessions, light but healthy. He’s even started making his own granola for it. 

It’s one of those domestic things that the others gently poke at him for, like his regular trips to the farmers’ market for fresh produce and whatever else he can get; recently its been fresh yogurt and milk.

The pipes overhead wheeze a little as water rushes through them for Caleb’s shower and Fjord slices fresh strawberries with his tongue caught between his teeth and a tusk. He rinses off some blueberries and raspberries, then peels off to the living room briefly to get his phone so he can play some music.

He picks a gentle playlist, something relaxing, and slides his phone onto the dock so the music fills the space.

The music doesn’t cover when the water upstairs stops as he’s layering fruit, yogurt, and granola in their glasses. He tops it with honey as Frumpkin comes trodding down the stairs and over to him, “Hey, Frumps,” he greets, getting a bowl of water and setting it to the side on the counter.

Frumpkin leaps up so Fjord strokes him down the line of his back.

He’ll blame the cat distracting him as to how Caleb manages to sneak up on him, arms sliding around him from behind, face pressing between his shoulder blades.

It’s a near thing, but he manages not to rear back and dislodge him, though his heart skips a few beats in there.

Caleb’s laugh is a quiet thing, “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to startle you,” and Fjord just barely feels the kiss that Caleb touches to his back.

“S’alright, you taking lessons from Nott or something?” He teases, cupping his hands over Caleb’s, enjoying the contact while he’s got it. Frumpkin abandons his water bowl to come nudge at their combined hands and Caleb laughs again, turning his hand to scritch at Frumpkin’s chin.

“We missed you,” Fjord tells him, then because he feels like he’s going to get clogged up with all his emotions, “I made us parfaits.”

Graciously, Caleb gives him the out, moving to the side so he can actually see what Fjord has pulled together, “Looks delicious as always, bärchen,” he says and presses another kiss to Fjord’s shoulder, bared by his tank top. The quiet intimacy of it swells in his chest like a balloon and three weeks feels like its been six months instead.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the easy contact between the two of them.

Caleb scoops up his glass and spoon, heading for the living, and Fjord follows quietly in his wake. The room is still in slight disarray from Molly’s visit, but Fjord nudges Caleb’s chair away from the couch with his hip. Frumpkin leaps into the chair and Fjord sits too close to Caleb on the couch.

It doesn’t seem to bother Caleb at all and they eat in near silence, save for the clinking of spoons against glass and the gentle hum of Fjord’s music spilling in from the kitchen.

Once he’s done, he lets Caleb take his glass from him, eyebrows scrunching when Caleb simply deposits their empty glasses on the side table. His confusion smooths out when Caleb turns and slings a leg over his lap, settling in so they’re belly to belly.

“Hallo,” Caleb tells him quietly, eyes crinkled at the sides with his smile.

“I love you,” Fjord says, just as quietly, arms looping around Caleb’s back. He tucks his face into Caleb’s neck to try and reel in his rampant emotions that are wreaking absolute havoc on his mouth.

Caleb hums and a long finger traces his ear where it’s pressed back hard against his skull, before a hand slides into his hair, cupping the back of his head, “I love you too,” the words are pressed to the crown of his head and Fjord shudders underneath Caleb.

There will never be a time when the simple truth of those words won’t rend him.

A gentle tug on his hair has him tilting his head back with a quiet keen, though he still meets Caleb’s gaze steadfast. It’s hard to be embarrassed by his own responses in these moments, Caleb a grounding weight in his lap. Caleb tugs his hair again, tipping his head back further, and then slots their mouths together.

Caleb takes control of the kiss and Fjord cedes to him, melts easily into it as Caleb licks into his mouth. 

He’s starved for this contact, the intimacy and the way that Caleb seems to know him better than he knows himself at times, seems so in tune with what he wants. Half the time, Fjord can’t even guess at what he wants.

“You’re thinking too much, bärchen,” Caleb says, voice a low rasp when he pulls back. Fjord’s eyes dip to his lips, red and puffy, and he swallows. A hand bumps his chin, redirecting his focus, “Are you - oh, Fjord,” his voice somehow goes lower in the way that makes Fjord squirm. 

That same hand takes his chin, thumb pressing against the hollow of his cheek, and he meets Caleb’s very dark eyes. Caleb’s smile is small but present, “Color.”

Fjord nearly swallows his tongue and it takes him several tries to get his mouth to cooperate, “Green, Caleb, gods, very green,” he tumbles out.

Caleb’s thumb presses into his mouth, pushing down on his tongue, and Fjord’s shoulders droop. 

“Gut,” he withdraws then, movements slow, and doesn’t try to stop Fjord from clinging to his hips. Caleb’s fingers feel like steel bands when they wrap around his forearms and tug, pulling him off the couch, “Lets move to the bed.”

The hands pulling him up withdraw once Caleb’s sure he’s following and Fjord crowds against his back, even if it complicates taking the stairs a little bit. For his part, Caleb seems not to mind, “Am I going to have to tie you up?” 

Fjord whines softly and Caleb hums in response, “Nein, you’re right, not this time. Are you going to be a good boy for me?” He crests the top of the stairs and turns, backing towards the bed, attention fully blanketing Fjord. It’s not a question that demands an answer to Fjord steps in closer while he’s allowed, nudging under Caleb’s jaw and dragging kisses along the column of his throat.

Hands pet gently through his hair as Caleb indulges him.

He worries his tusks against the delicate skin below Caleb’s ear, thinking about leaving a mark there and relishing in the quiet gasp it pulls from Caleb and the way it turns his own insides molten.

“Fjord,” Caleb says in the tone that makes him snap back, spine straight, “On the bed, on your back.”

His mouth floods with saliva and Fjord nods, kneeing onto their bed and up to the pillows, where he flops down gracelessly, limbs sprawled in every direction. His gaze dips briefly, watching the way Caleb adjusts himself in his sweats. He knows the way his own thighs spread a little more, the way his hips cant up, doesn’t go unnoticed.

Caleb doesn’t make it necessary for him to beg, climbing up the bed as well, though he settles back on his knees between Fjord’s spread thighs, not quite close enough to touch. His eyes are dark and almost like a physical caress when they slide up the length of Fjord’s body. Almost.

Fjord shifts, mouth opening to say something, but Caleb shushes him, hands falling onto his thighs. He’s still got his workout clothes on, yoga pants that stretch thin over his thighs in a way that keeps Caleb for ever joining he and Molly during their sessions. Right now, the stretch of them feels obscene even to Fjord himself.

It doesn’t leave him feeling self conscious like it normally would, shaken out of that headspace by the way Caleb’s thumbs are digging into the inseam of his thighs.

“Look at you,” Caleb says lowly and Fjord knows his face must be ruddy, flush with arousal and whatever this feeling is that Caleb invokes in him with just a few simple touches and looks. Caleb slides his hands higher, not easing the pressure of his grip, but stopping before he meets the crease of Fjord’s thigh and hip.

Fjord whines.

Caleb hums and digs his thumbs in, “Easy,” he reassures gently, “I’m going to take care of you.” He curves over Fjord then, pressing their lips together in a series of shallow kisses. When he pulls away, Fjord tries to chase after him, but lets himself fall back to the bed after a sharp glance.

“Cay, please,” he tries instead, trying to cant his hips.

One of Caleb’s hands moves, pushing his hip down to the bed, anchoring him, “I know, liebling,” he says. That hand stays put, holding him in place, and the other moves, pressing against him through his pants, the heel of Caleb’s palm grinding just once. 

Fjord keens, hips twitching.

Caleb makes a wounded sound above him, “Schiebe, I can feel how wet you are through these,” he sounds amazed, and Fjord groans, throwing an arm over his face, half expecting to get chastised for it. It doesn’t come, instead Caleb moves his hand, thumb circling until he manages to find Fjord’s swollen clit, even through the fabric.

He circles his thumb around it and Fjord’s hips jerk against the bed.

Abruptly, Caleb stops, hand flattening against Fjord’s pelvis between his hips, “Fjord,” he says and doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything else. Fjord lifts his arm enough to peer up at him, to meet his gaze. Caleb quirks a smile at him, “Can I take your clothes off?”

Fjord nods before he considers and Caleb doesn’t move, so he swallows and licks his lips. He thinks about it and nods again, “Yeah, yes, please.”

Caleb hums, “Good boy,” he says, curving over Fjord again to kiss him, brief and gone too soon once more. But his hands slide up, rucking Fjord’s tank top up. He sits up, careful not to knock his forehead off Caleb’s, lifting his arms up to Caleb can remove his top.

It gets dropped to the floor and Fjord drops back against the bed, shuddering when Caleb’s palms drag down over his chest. He doesn’t linger, gently drags his nails over Fjord’s nipples and then scars, but keeps moving lower. His hands reach the top of the pants and hook around the waistband, “Hips up.”

Curling his fingers in the sheets below him, Fjord breathes out quietly and cants his hips up.

Caleb tugs, dragging the material down, and swears under his breath, “Fjord,” he says, somewhere between amused and aroused.

Fjord snarks a lip at him, baring his teeth a little, “You’re not the only one around here who likes to go commando,” he says lowly, and cants his hips again to try and get Caleb moving.

Humming, Caleb doesn’t comment, instead turns all of his considerable focus on dragging the yoga pants down Fjord’s legs. They get caught up around his knees, the material clinging, but eventually they join his top on the floor and he’s left sprawled naked on the bed, while Caleb sits between his thighs, still in a sweater and pants.

After a beat of simply staring, Caleb starts moving again, hands pushing his thighs again, pressing them wide. He pauses, eyes flicking up, “What are you good with?”

“Anything,” Fjord answers almost immediately, exhaling a heavy rush of air. He jerks when Caleb pinches his thigh and heaves another breath, “I’m serious, Cay, anything.”

Caleb squints at him, his thumb soothing the spot he pinched, and he nods eventually, “Remember your colors,” he says, then shifts, dropping on his belly between Fjord’s spread legs. Fjord’s entire body trembles once and he can smell himself in the air.

“Breath, liebling,” Caleb says, breath ghosting hot over him as Caleb presses hands against his thighs, holding him. He doesn’t actually give Fjord the chance to inhale, leaning in to drag the tip of his tongue over his cunt, not enough pressure to be anything but a tease. Fjord’s hips twitch anyways.

He’s three weeks of pent up arousal and sensitivity.

Thumbs rub maddening circles over his thighs and Fjord twists the sheets in his grasp, already planning to blame Caleb if he punctures them with his claws. Caleb groans against him and flattens his tongue, dragging it over Fjord again and again and again, pressure lightening to almost nothing as it passes over his clit.

Fjord swears, turning his face into the pillow.

Caleb slides his hands just a fraction higher, using his thumbs to spread Fjord open, then blows over him. His thighs quake and he almost misses Caleb talking, “You’re doing so well, so responsive for me,” he bites gently at Fjord’s thigh.

“Cay,” he pants out, forcing his fingers to unlock from the sheets and reaches up to grip the headboard, knowing he can’t damage that any. He tucks his face against his own bicep, trying to stop his body from trembling.

There’s no verbal response, but Caleb presses back in, tongue pressing into Fjord, before he drags it up, tongues over his clit, then circles the tip around the bud, then back down. Fjord groans and hangs onto the headboard for dear life, thighs closing around Caleb’s shoulders.

Caleb stays like that, licking into him and then over his clit in random circles, then without warning wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. That sends Fjord careening over the edge, thighs and stomach tightening as he muffles a shout against his own arm.

Easy licks gentle him through it and when the tension leaks out, his thighs are still trembling.

“Color?” Caleb asks, the muffles of his voice like tiny shocks.

Fjord breathes out, then in, out again, “Green,” he says, though his voice quakes halfway through when Caleb licks purposefully into him again.

One of Caleb’s fingers presses into him alongside his tongue and Fjord rocks his hips, hiccuping out a wild sound. Caleb moves his mouth away, smearing a wet kiss against Fjord’s thigh, then rests his cheek there, peering up the line of his body, “Gut?”

Fjord hiccups again, this time around what might be a hysterical laugh and grinds his hips down against Caleb’s hand.

Caleb groans, “Point taken,” he says, easing his hand back and pressing back in with two fingers. He crooks them up a little, fucking them in and out with slow purposeful movements. The sounds are obscene and loud to Fjord’s ears and he gnaws his tusks at his own arm briefly to do something with his mouth.

Shifting on the bed draws his attention and Caleb stills his fingers, his palm cupping over Fjord, grinding briefly against his clit as Caleb leans over him, “Fjord,” he says and reaches up to pull one of Fjord’s hands down from the headboard, then the other. 

Breathing heavily through his nose, Fjord cups Caleb’s side, careful of his claws, “Caleb,” he echoes, feeling a little unfocused and dazed.

Caleb nudges at his mouth and then presses them into a kiss, deep and searching, so that Fjord tastes himself. His whine is lost in the kiss as Caleb hooks his fingers and then starts moving again, movements jerky now that his arm is pinned between them.

A harsh pant has Caleb breaking the kiss as Fjord pushes his thigh up against him, feeling the line of Caleb’s cock through his pants. Caleb’s back arches and his hips flex and he touches his forehead against Fjord’s shoulder, “Schiesse,” and then presses his thumb against Fjord’s clit, causing him to choke out a moan.

“Can I -“ Caleb stops, pressing back into Fjord with three fingers, thumb moving in gentle circles, “Gods, Fjord,” he says, finally sounding wrecked.

Fjord rocks his hips and tries to hike Caleb’s sweater up at the same time, “Can you take this off?” He asks, “All of it,” he adds, pressing his thigh up again, trying to give Caleb some friction or something. Trying to get Caleb to his level, at least.

“Ja, ja, I will,” Caleb says and doesn’t pull away all at once, knows better than to, first sitting up, still fucking Fjord with his fingers, though shallow now. Now that he’s sat up, Fjord can see the wet spot forming where the head of his dick is and his mouth waters. 

When Caleb withdraws his hand, Fjord resists the urge to take over, watching him with half lidded eyes instead, “What was that about going commando?” He asks, while Caleb’s half out of his sweater. It gets caught up around his head and Fjord smothers a laugh as he reaches up to help him pull it off. 

Caleb’s hair is a mess of curls when he drops the sweater, and he’s red from his cheeks, down his neck and all the way to his nipples. “Ja, well, we both know that’s how I spend home time,” he says, modesty as a foreign a concept to him as it was when they first met. He steps off the bed to shuck his pants and Fjord slides a hand down his own belly only to lift it away when Caleb clicks his tongue.

He whines low in his throat and curls a hand in the air at Caleb, trying to beckon him closer.

It gets him the ghost of a smile and he swallows thickly, watching as Caleb wraps a hand around his cock and strokes himself in lazy swipes. Fjord drags his tongue over his lower lip and relishes the sound Caleb makes in response.

“As much as I’d love to fuck your mouth, liebling,” Caleb says, drawing the endearment into something filthy that it’s a wonder Fjord can hear it any other way any longer, “I don’t think I’d last very long and -“

Fjord cants his hips up, “C’mon then, Cay, stop talking and do something,” he counters.

Caleb hums and rejoins him on the bed, though he doesn’t come in close like Fjord expects, wants, him to. He settles on his knees between Fjord’s spread thighs again, hands pressing up his thighs, “Patience,” he murmurs.

That’s the tone that promises awful, pleasurable things and Fjord shudders.

“How many more do you think you have in you?” Caleb asks, conversationally, as he rubs two fingers through Fjord’s folds, spreading wetness, then presses them into him in a long slow drag, fingers hooked up, “One? Two? Three? How many?”

Fist pressed against his mouth, Fjord rocks his hips down, trying to get more, “Ah, I don’t know,” he says and whines softly when Caleb holds him down, an arm barred down over his hips, “Two? Maybe three? Its been a while.”

Caleb hooks his fingers up more and Fjord’s thighs tremble, “I thought about all the things I’d want to do to you when I got home,” his voice is a low rasp, the kind that drags over all of Fjord’s nerve endings, “Mostly I thought about seeing how many orgasms I could wring out of you.”

Fjord moans around his knuckles. Even with his own moans, his own breathing, Caleb’s breathing, he can still hear the wet sounds of Caleb fucking him with his fingers.

“Tomorrow, though,” he carries on, and Fjord’s well used to this, the way Caleb can talk during sex, conversational like Fjord isn’t shaking like a leaf beneath him, on the hair trigger of his second orgasm, “Tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I think I’d like for you to fuck me.”

He’s got a response to that, an eager answer, but it’s lost in the way that Caleb curls his fingers, rubs against his inner walls, rubs steady circles around his clit and then over it.

His thighs quake and Fjord near sobs through this orgasm, hips twitching in Caleb’s grasp of their own accord. Caleb’s talking about something, but Fjord can hear him over the rush of blood in his own ears, not when Caleb hasn’t stopped touching him, rubbing him through this orgasm, and into another on its heels.

No sound comes out of him with that, his mouth open in a wordless shout, back arching as he cums, definitely soaking the sheets beneath him.

When the world starts to reorient itself, Caleb’s pulled away some, gently petting his thighs now, letting him breathe through it. He looks very pleased with himself too, lips curling in a barely there smirk that has Fjord hooking a leg around his back and tugging.

It takes Caleb off guard and he ends up sprawling forward against Fjord’s chest, narrowly keeping from knocking his head off Fjord’s mouth. The head of his cock drags over Fjord’s cunt though and they both groan.

“Caleb,” Fjord grinds out, impatient and still sensitive, but desperate to be close to Caleb.

Caleb pets his flank, down to his hip, then levers himself back up properly, so he’s not mashed into Fjord’s neck, “You sure?” He asks, because he’s caring like that, always enough sense left in him in these moments to check in. It’s one of those things that never fails to make Fjord’s chest ache with how much he loves this man.

He nods, “Very sure, come on, _please_.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. Caleb rubs the head of his dick through Fjord’s folds enough times to have him trembling all over as Caleb finally starts pressing forward.

So. Very. Slow.

Caleb’s panting by the time he’s flush in, his face bright red, hair falling down to curtain him from the world outside of their bed. Fjord runs a hand up his chest to his neck, cupping around it and gently tugging, bringing Caleb down so he can kiss him.

It mostly ends up being them panting into each other’s mouths.

He’s not sure which of them is benefitting from Caleb staying still for so long, but Fjord’s in no hurry to rush him to movement, basking in having Caleb this close to him after so much time apart. He hooks a leg behind Caleb, keeps touching him, sliding his hands over Caleb’s check, gently scraping his claws down Caleb’s back.

And Caleb’s trembling, a fine tremor through his whole body, that speaks to just how far gone he already is. There’s something satisfying in that, in the knowledge that he’s right on the edge, just from driving Fjord over the edge so many times.

Fjord rocks his hips, experimental, and Caleb’s chin hits his chest, a low drawn out groan pulling out of him.

That’s enough to set Caleb moving, long, grinding thrusts, nearly pulling all the way out before he presses back in, slow and steady pressure. He’s got no words left in him, just endless sounds, and Fjord’s toes curl.

Then Caleb hitches his other thigh up, so both are around his waist, leaning forward over Fjord, bracing his arms on either side of Fjord’s body. It presses him in deeper, turns his long thrusts into short, powerful grinds that punches the air out of Fjord, leaving him breathless and bracketed in by Caleb on all sides.

If this were anyone else, he’d feel caged in, but this is Caleb and all he can do is wrap his arms around Caleb and hang on.

“Fjord,” Caleb’s lips drag over his jaw, “ _Fjord_.”

He slides a hand through Caleb’s hair, cups the back of his head, rolls his own hips up, “Yeah, come on, Cay, I want you to.”

Caleb shudders against him, so close, “Do you—“

“Don’t worry about me, I want you to cum for me,” he drags his nails gently down Caleb’s back, tightens his legs just a little.

Caleb’s groan echoes off the ceilings and he stills with a final grind of his hips, his forehead tucking against Fjord’s neck. Fjord rubs his back, runs his fingers through Caleb’s hair, trying his best to easy him through it.

When Caleb starts to pull away, he clings a little tighter.

Caleb huffs a quiet sound and then simply slumps forward against Fjord’s chest, nuzzling at him like an overgrown cat, “Gut?”

“Mm,” Fjord responds and catches Caleb’s hand before he can get pinched, “I’m good, Cay, relax your brain,” he adds, a little teasing, but mostly fond.

“Ich liebe dich,” Caleb rumbles against his chest, pressing a kiss to Fjord’s collarbone, then scraping his teeth gently over the same area.

Fjord exhales in a long gust and scrapes his claws over Caleb’s scalp, “I love you too.”

Eventually, they’ll have to move and clean up, change the sheets, brush their teeth, get back into bed, but for now, Fjord’s going to cling for a little bit longer, enjoying having Caleb as close to him as possible. Everything else can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter and tumblr.


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